Chapter 7: The First Step Into the World
The next morning, I woke before Naledi.
It was still dark outside, the world half-asleep, but I couldn't stay still. My body buzzed with a strange mixture of nerves and purpose. I dressed quietly, pulling on worn jeans and a hoodie, then wrapped the charcoal pieces in brown paper and tied them with twine.
I wrote a small note for Naledi:
"I'm not running. I'm beginning. I'll be back before sunset. – Z"
I placed it by her pillow and left.
The forest was cold and damp beneath my boots. Mist lingered in the air, curling around the trees like smoke. The smell of ash, moss, and wet wood filled my nose. I followed the trail Naledi once showed me, but today, I walked with a mission.
I carried four neat bundles of charcoal in a cloth bag across my back.
There was a village nearby — she'd pointed it out before. Small, mostly old homes, street vendors, and a dusty road that welcomed travelers but forgot their names.
I moved quickly, head down, body tense.
I wasn't afraid. Not really.
I was aware.
The village came into view just after sunrise. A few early vendors were already setting up. Women with crates of tomatoes and onions. Men arranging wood and fuel on the backs of bakkies. Kids in uniforms chasing chickens barefoot.
I approached the first stall slowly — an older woman with a wide frame, headwrap tied in bright pink.
She saw me and nodded politely. "Sawubona, sisi."
I smiled and offered a quiet nod, but didn't speak.
I pulled one charcoal bundle from my bag and held it out.
Her eyes narrowed. She untied it carefully, running her fingers across the black chunks.
"Eh-heh," she muttered. "This is good stuff. You make this?"
I nodded again.
She examined it more, then looked up. "How much?"
I held up three fingers.
She didn't question me. She reached for her apron and handed over three crisp R10 notes.
I gave a short bow and moved on.
No words. No fuss.
Just trade.
By the time I left the village, I had sold all four bundles — two to street vendors, one to a butchery man, and the last to a grandmother who barely spoke, just smiled and nodded.
I made R120 before breakfast.
It wasn't much.
But it was mine.
And it was the beginning.
The walk home was longer than I remembered. Not because of the distance — but because my thoughts moved faster than my feet.
What if I made ten bundles?
What if I supplied this whole area?
What if we never had to beg again?
I reached the cabin by late afternoon. My legs ached, but my spirit didn't.
Naledi was outside, pacing. When she saw me, her body jolted.
"Zukhanyi!"
She ran down the steps and wrapped her arms around me before I could say a word.
"I didn't know if you were coming back," she whispered into my hair.
I pulled back gently and handed her the notes.
"I sold everything," I said quietly.
She looked down at the money, then at me. Her eyes filled with tears. Not sadness. Something softer. Deeper.
Pride.
"Come inside," she said. "Tell me everything."
We sat by the fire as I explained my route, the people, the reactions. She listened like each word was gold.
"I want to do this every week," I said. "Start small. Quiet."
She nodded. "I'll help. We can build the pit together. And I can keep watch when you're away."
I smiled. "I feel alive when I work. When I walk. When I make something."
Naledi looked at me like I was a storm and the calm after it — all at once.
"You're more than a survivor," she said. "You're a creator."
That night, we cooked a full meal — pap, spinach, and tinned fish. We ate like we hadn't in days, laughing over nothing, our knees touching under the table.
After dinner, we lay side by side on the mattress.
The candle flickered nearby. The radio played something soft and nostalgic.
Naledi reached for my hand in the dark. "You know," she whispered, "you disappeared this morning and still made me feel safe."
I turned to face her. "Why?"
"Because I know now — when you leave, it's not to run. It's to rise."
My throat tightened. I blinked back tears. "Do you think… we could really make something out of this life?"
She smiled. "I think we already are."
I leaned in, forehead pressed to hers. Our breath mingled. Our hands stayed intertwined.
No kiss. No rush.
Just that steady, beautiful closeness.
Love, in its rawest form.